Never Too Late
by MixedUpAndMadeUp
Summary: They talk of a man betraying his country, his friends, his sweetheart. There must be a moral bond first. All a man can betray is his conscience. - Joseph Conrad 1857 - 1924. Rated T for language.


**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Alex Rider or any related characters ect.**

"Shit! What's that?"

It was kind of a stupid question really, the hammering _bang bang bang _could only be the sound of fists on the front door. But in his sleep fogged state they were the first words that came to mind and he immediately sat bolt upright and threw off the covers.

Rachel, had also woken up and she watched as he stumbled out of bed, wearing nothing but boxers and a shirt. Her golden eyes were still full of sleep, her head tilted back slightly, black hair spidering around her neck and across the pillow.

"Do you have to..?" She murmured as he pulled on a pair of jeans.

"Fuck." He swore as he banged into the beside table, upsetting the lamp and a glass of water that he had put there earlier. Water sloshed everywhere and there was a resounding crash as the lamp toppled over backwards and shattered. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a strangled breath. "I'll be back in a minute."

Rachel groaned and rolled over. "Who the hell is it? It's two in the morning!"

He didn't answer and instead he padded out of the bedroom which led straight out into the living room, and also the kitchen. In the dark it was hard to negotiate and he ended up slamming a knee into the coffee table.

_Bang bang bang. _

Biting back an obscenity he finally made his way over to the door and grappled with the chain and then forced down the handle, pulling the door towards him.

Light from the hallway shelved into the doorway and he raised a hand to shield his eyes.

Four men stood silhouetted against the glare.

"Jonathon Freeman?"

He nodded warily, trying to see past the sudden illumination.

One of the men stepped forward and pressed something against his stomach. His features came into sharp relief and Jonathon felt a stab of recognition.

The man grabbed his arm and forced him around so that the gun was nuzzled against his back. Jonathon didn't struggle as the man handcuffed his hands behind his back.

"You're coming with us." His voice was gruff and strikingly familiar. But then Jonathon doubted he would ever be able to forget it.

The front door leading into his flat slammed shut and Jonathon was herded down the hallway with the four men in formation around him.

None of them said a word as they made their way downstairs and into the foyer. There was silence as they walked out across the empty, night swept streets.

Only when Jonathon was sat in the back of the van, back pressed against the metal wall, hands cuffed together with four armed men all watching him intently, did he speak.

"Rachel is going to be really pissed."

* * *

Alex Rider had been here many times. Too many times in the past three years.

This place always inspired hatred within him. It was the starter point of a new mission, more pain, more death.

Every single time, he swore to himself that it was the last. But MI6 had too much leverage.

But now, they had nothing.

Because she was dead.

Alex felt sick.

Blunt was busy talking, grey eyes fixed on Alex, his lips moved but no sound seemed to come out.

Alex tried to bring himself back into the present.

"Very sorry for your lose... Unforeseen events... Couldn't have been prevented."

Then, he was done and there was a long silence as if he was expecting Alex to say something, to accept the condolences. But they resonated bitterly to Alex. Because it was all Blunt's fault and here he was, writing the blame off to 'unforeseen events.'

Alex couldn't have hated him more.

Once the silence had rang out for just long enough to be uncomfortable, Alex reached into his jacket and took out a battered leather wallet.

He took out his ID card, which MI6 had issued him with when he turned sixteen so that he could commute more easily within the Royal and General building. He put the rectangle of laminated card on the polished surface of the desk and slid it over to Blunt.

Blunt watched his movements and then his eyes flickered up to meet with Alex's. He blinked, surprised by their blankness, there was nothing in those eyes, all the emotions carefully hidden, or perhaps not there at all.

"I'm done." Two words, but the meaning in them were clear.

Blunt sat back and an amused smile graced his lips for a moment. "Really?"

"I'm not playing your games Blunt. Not any more. You've got nothing on me."

"Is that so." Blunt was enjoying himself. Alex could see that and a primitive urge rose up inside him, the urge to hurt, to kill. "Because I could make life very difficult for you Alex. You know the extent of my influence."

"I don't care. I'm done." The last two words, were spoken slowly as if to a child.

"I can't let that happen."

"You can't stop it."

"You seem more a child to me everyday... Alex. Are you really so naive to think that I can just let you go, like that. You're dangerous Alex, a threat to national security. You're entire identity is government owned."

"I'll get a new one." Alex's lips quirked slightly.

"I won't authorize that."

Blunt had stood up now and Alex immediately mimicked him. He wouldn't be talked down to. Blunt smirked.

The door behind them opened, Blunt looked past Alex at the new entry.

"Take Mr Rider to Level 0, I'll deal with him later."

* * *

The man paced the stained and scraped concrete floor, scuffed from many rubber soles and thick with age old dust. A sickly yellow light spilled down into the room from a naked light hanging from the ceiling. Yellow and black striped the walls in a traffic light contrast.

"Who are you?" His voice was accent less, almost emotionless, there was perhaps some bitterness, some misplaced amusement.

His captive, held between two burly guards didn't reply for a long moment, his eyes flashed in the dim lighting. "I am you. I am what you were. What you left behind."

The man cracked a smile, cocking his head to one side and a rough noise that might have been a laugh scraped from his throat. "MI6? Well, that's too bad."

His captive never moved.

The man drew his gun. "You're wrong about one thing." He aimed. "You're not me. I never got killed." He fired.

**Confused? I hope so, that means I am doing my job. I know I haven't been doing much writing recently and I probably won't be writing very reguarly, I just don't have enough time. Life is proving rather trying at the moment. Hope you liked this first chapter anyway. Thanks for reading. MUAMU x **


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